Hearts Made of Glass
by CornflowerDollz123
Summary: What if Alan Blunt had a great-niece? What if she had been hurt? What Alex wanted to know her past?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

"Shake shake, shake shake, a shake it! Shake shake, sha-".

Alex Rider slammed his hand on the snooze button on his mobile phone alarm while groaning sleepily. He really had to change that alarm.

He rolled over with the intention of going promptly back sleep, only to be dumped onto his blue carpeted-floor.

"Get up Alex!" Jack Starbright shouted up the stairs. Jack was an American, who had first come over to England as a student and was now Alex's legal guardian and one of his closest friends.

With his eyes half shut, and with his fair hair bringing a new meaning to the term 'bed head', Alex stumbled down the wooden stairs, missing his footing several times.

When he trudged into the kitchen, he was met with the smell of instant coffee and toast.

Rubbing his eyes, Alex saw Jack sitting at the kitchen table, consuming toast with honey, and swigging down the coffee. Smiling groggily at the familiar sight, Alex grabbed a cereal bowl and a carton of milk before chucking some Cornflakes in the bowl and pouring in some milk.

Plonking himself down on a chair opposite Jack, Alex realised how hungry he was, and started to devour the cereal.

After he had finished wolfing down his cereal, he swigged down a few mouthfuls of milk straight from the carton and then proceeded to run up the stairs two at a time (now passably awake), throw on his school uniform, and start the daily hunt for his black Nike schoolbag.

After finding the wretched bag in the cupboard under the stairs, he shouted a hasty goodbye at Jack, grabbed his bike, plugged in his iPod and started to pedal furiously in the direction of Brookland High School.

When Alex was passing the morning traffic queue on the main road, marking the halfway mark of his cycle to school he glanced at his watch. If he didn't get in to school on time today, he would get detention, so Alex was relieved to see that he had plenty of time.

Because of this, Alex slowed down to a more leisurely pace to admire the weather. It was a glorious day; the sky was a pleasant blue with only a few white clouds dotted across it.

The sun was on his back and the wind was only a cool breeze. As it was a near perfect morning (a rare occurrence in Chelsea), Alex wanted to kick a ball around the tennis pitch with his best friend Tom, and as he didn't want to be laid down with forgotten homework, Alex racked his brain for any homework which may have escaped his notice the previous night.

A horrifically boring essay on any issues raised by the class novel, 'The Wave' for English; French vocabulary; maths equations and a ridiculous drawing of a piece of draped fabric for art. Alex couldn't think of any other homework, so he pedalled on with a slight smile on his face.

When Alex arrived at Brookland, he found Tom in the library (Alex had nearly gagged with shock- he hadn't been aware that Tom had known what a library was), frantically scribbling in his English book, a slightly manic expression on his face.

"What's the matter?" Alex asked, curiosity colouring his tone.

If Tom hadn't done a homework, he generally gave one of his numerous excuses, ranging from the traditional 'My dog ate my homework', to Alex's personal favourite, 'I've got problems at home Sir', the latter normally accompanied by a few fake sobs.

"If I don't hand this flippin' essay in, Simpson's going to lock me up and throw away the chocolate!" Tom relied, panic rising in his voice with every word.

Alex sympathised, Tom normally had a very calm air around him, he must be very worried. Alex slapped his essay down on the table, about to tell him to change a word every so often when…

"ALEX RIDER! SIT DOWN OR GET OUT OF MY LIBRARY!" roared Mrs O'Neill, the school librarian, a tall thin woman who resembled a horse.

She could always be found prowling around the immaculate shelves, her beady eyes continually scanning the room for any unfortunate student who damaged her precious books.

She liked only a select few, girls who wore their hair in tight plaits and skirts down to their knees, generally with mousy brown hair, braces and pasty skin from the many hours they spent hunched over a thick book inside.

Alex hastily grabbed one of the hard plastic chairs and sat down quickly. Sighing slightly, he cast the idea of playing football out of his mind- many at time had Tom helped him scrawl something down on paper, whether it made sense or not.

Whilst Tom was copying his essay, Alex's mind began to drift away. He was just daydreaming about a large bar of Galaxy chocolate bar, when something flashed across his mind, putting all thoughts of chocolate far out of his mind, Galaxy or not.

Alex Rider smiled as he watched his best friend Tom single-handedly blow up a chemistry experiment, using only a rubber band and a piece of chewing-gum.

He smiled, not just because an now eyebrowless Tom –who was staring at the remains of the experiment with a look of horror – had managed to get him out of an English lesson, with his teacher Mr. Simpson, a man who practically lived in his room alone, and who was able to string a sentence together without referring to Shakespeare and the word 'Eugh' several thousand times, but because life was good.

Whilst sitting in the library, Alex had remembered that today marked the day six months ago when MI6 had decided to leave him alone, and he had finally been able to move on with his life and be as normal as a fifteen year old teenage boy could be.

He continued to beam all the way through French- quite an achievement as his teacher Miss Millar (who bared such a startling resemblance to a bird it was positively alarming), had given them a long-winded lecture on the correct use of the imperfect tense – a skill the pupils in the class who had brains larger than that of two gnats rubbed together had acquired weeks ago.

Finally after two periods of maths and a personal development class, Tom blurted out:

"What the heck is going on Alex? You haven't stopped grinning gormlessly for hours! What's going on? Are you ill? Has someone cloned the real Alex Rider and have forgotten to place a brain in one of the clones? Don't go over to the dark side Alex! Stay with me!"

Alex chuckled good-humorously, it was true that he was acting slightly strangely, but who cared?

Alex could very clearly recall Tom telling several students that it was cool to be different and forcing Alex to march around the school during fifth period, chanting the tongue-twister of a slogan, 'Individuality is a necessity', and Alex hadn't complained…

That much.

True, that was an attempt to be given a detention so that Tom didn't have to go to the theatre with his great aunt Beatrice, a slightly batty woman who smelled strongly of cheese, and was convinced Tom was a girl called Gwendolyn.

But this was only smiling for Heaven's sake! Not exactly a horrendous crime!

"Nothing Tom, just thinking." said Alex vaguely.

"You've met a girl haven't you!" exclaimed Tom excitedly. "Is she blonde? Is she pretty? Is her name Ali-Baba? Does she have a sister who you can set me up with?"

Alex sniggered, wondering why Tom had come up with such a ridiculous and far-fetched explanation for a bit grinning.

Tom continued to badger Alex all throughout Break and on the way to Art about Alex's 'girlfriend'.

At exactly one O'clock (Alex knew this because the girl who sat two seats in front of Alex had a digital watch which beeped loudly on the hour), someone rapped sharply on the door three times.

"Enter," called Mrs Smythe, Alex's dozy art teacher.

The door swung open and a man walked swiftly up to Mrs Smythe's desk, which was covered in a combination of chewing gum wrappers, screwed up pieces of paper and pencils with broken leads.

He wore a plain grey suit and a spotless white shirt. His tie was a dull navy blue and was tied in a perfect knot. His handlebar moustache was black, streaked with grey and his hair was styled most unfortunately in a side-parting.

When he spoke, his voice was hushed and Alex had to strain his ears to catch what was being said.

"…his great-aunt Bertha is most distressed and demands to speak with him, they are very close… feels that only he can comfort her in this most unfortunate of times." The strange man's voice was monotonous, the pitch never varying.

"Oh alright," Mrs Smythe replied, vaguely, "Alex, come here." Her boredom was blaringly obvious.

Alex got up, worry quickly rising up in him like vomit. Alex had no living relatives that he knew of whatsoever, certainly none named Bertha.

Alarm bells were ringing in his head, the only person who would pull him out of school was Alan Blunt, and Alex had no desire to see him, in fact, Alex would rather walk around school in a pink bikini than be in the same building as Blunt, let alone talk to him.

Wait, breathe. Maybe he was slightly over-reacting.

Perhaps Blunt had nothing to do with this. Alex tried to reassure himself, but he had a feeling that after six months, MI6 were about to catapult themselves back into Alex's life.

Alex chewed his lip nervously as he watched Brookland become further and further away.

A black BWM had been waiting outside; with dark tinted windows and a number plate which read **JJZ 920, **a number plate which Alex knew was most likely to be false.

The driver, a surly man with dark sunglasses and closely cropped jet black hair, had barely spoken a word, only briefly murmuring to the man who had pulled Alex out of class.

This man had introduced himself as Fredrick Stirling. Alex had noted that both men, as expected of MI6 employees, were armed.

Casting his gaze around the car, Alex wondered what MI6 wanted him to do this time.

After the Snakehead operation, Blunt had told him that MI6 weren't going to call upon him again.

Alex had doubted it at the time, but then again after seeing things which most fully grown men had never seen, let alone teenage boys, Alex didn't trust anything that Blunt said.

Alex recalled how much he had aged through his work with MI6, mentally. But, even if Alex hadn't believed what Blunt had said, he had promised himself that never again would he work for MI6 and Alex was determined to keep this promise.

Not just for himself, but for Jack and Tom, the two people who he was closest too, and the people who would be affected if Alex simply disappeared again without a moment's notice, perhaps never to come back.

Tom would loose a best friend and Jack would loose the one person who cared about her here in England. No, he would refuse and would go back to Brookland and become a normal teenage boy.

One who wasn't looking over his shoulder every second of the day, one who didn't sub-consciously search strangers for weapons, or anything which may be of the slightest threat.

As Alex had suspected, when the car stopped, it was right outside the Royal and General. He took a deep breath, ignoring his sinking heart and steeped out of the car.

Without looking back at the car, Alex walked slowly to the door of the 'bank', pushed firmly on the door and entered.

Mrs Jones was standing in a corner of the front foyer, beside the lifts. She smiled slightly, and walked swiftly over to meet him.

Alex could smell peppermint faintly of her breath, and Alex smiled inwardly to himself, there were few memories of MI6 which Alex looked back fondly on, but this had to be one of them.

They went over to the lifts in an uneasy silence and Alex watched as she pressed the button for the eleventh floor.

As a cool woman's voice told them to stand back from the doors, his stomach tightened uncomfortably, nerves welling up inside his chest like a balloon.

Alex counted thirty-three seconds before the same woman's voice announced their arrival at the eleventh floor, and the lift doors glided open.

Mrs. Jones briskly strode down a long straight corridor and came to an abrupt stop outside the shiny wooden door which hid the office belonging to Alan Blunt, head of Special Operations.

Mrs Jones rapped sharply on the door three times, and immediately the monotonous, slightly stern voice of Blunt replied,

"Enter."

Alex swallowed, turned the gleaming brass doorknob and swung the door open. Those few actions marked the start of a journey which would once again, turn Alex's world upside down.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The first thing that Alex saw when he entered the room was Alan Blunt chewing his thin bottom lip, looking unusually nervous and flustered.

He was standing several paces away from the mahogany desk which he normally sat behind, and Alex soon saw why.

Perched on top of the desk, with a ferocious scowl on her face, furiously texting on a slim black mobile phone was a tall, slender, willowy girl. She had jet black, poker-straight hair, and milky-white, almost translucent skin.

Her hair was very obviously dyed, although it suited her as it enhanced her already dramatic face, with its crimson red lips and its startling green, almond shaped eyes which were framed with long eyelashes, sooty black with mascara and rimmed with thick, coal black eye-liner.

She looked up from her mobile, only to roll her eyes at the sight of Alex, and continued jabbing the buttons on her mobile with long, nimble fingers, whose fingernails were painted a fire engine red.

Blunt cleared his throat uneasily and began to speak in a low tense voice,

"Alex, this is my great-niece Iso –"

"Ex-great niece actually," interrupted the surly girl without taking her eyes of her mobile. Her voice had a slight Northern Irish lilt and was laced with venom.

"– bel. She has come over to London from Northern Ireland and is going to be staying here for a while; it's unclear exactly how long but at a guess, at least six months."

At these words, Isobel gave a huffy sigh; clearly these arrangements didn't please her.

"Due to the fact she may be in danger if anyone is informed that she is a relative of mine, she will be posing as Miss Starbright's god-daughter. She will be staying at your house and will be attending Brookland with you."

Alex could only gape.

He had arrived at Blunt's office, preparing himself to firmly decline a dangerous and most likely life-threatening assignment, only to be told that they were dumping a sullen teenage girl on him ,who looked about as friendly as a crocodile with a toothache.

The long awkward pause was only broken when Isobel finally tore her eyes away from her mobile and gave the helpful comment of,

"He's not the sharpest tool in the box, is he?"

Alex didn't think the name Isobel suited her very well. He thought it was more suited to quiet, gentle girls, with perpetual sweet smiles and innocent faces.

Alex could think of a lot of words to describe Isobel, but gentle, sweet and innocent weren't included in the list.

"Isobel, why don't you go and get your self a cup of tea?" Blunt asked, his voice trembling slightly when Isobel fixed him with a cold, steely glare, and replied,

"I would rather purée my own ears, but if I must." And with that, she jumped off the desk and stormed out of the room, slamming the door with exceptional grace.

"Sorry about Isobel," Blunt said, his voice suddenly returning to its normal tone, and somewhat louder than usual.

Alex hadn't noticed, but when Isobel had been in the room, he had been slightly slumped over, but now he drew himself back up to his full height, immediately transforming into the Blunt that he knew well.

Alex nearly laughed, generally most people feared murderers, thieves (or, in some cases mothers-in-laws), but Alan Blunt, head of Special Operations, was terrified of a fourteen year old girl.

"So Alex, how are you feeling?" Blunt enquired, his voice steady, crisp and confident now that his great-niece had left the room.

Actually 'left the room' wasn't nearly an adequate phrase to describe how Isobel has sailed across the room, almost like a thunder storm, her coal black hair streaming out behind her and her hips swaying slightly.

"She may seem scary, but she's normally a lovely girl." Blunt said, a slightly pathetic and desperate tone to his voice.

Alex snorted in disbelief, he had been told numerous times that first impressions were often wrong, but he was positive that this was not the case.

The tension could have been cut with a knife; Alex fidgeted uncomfortably with the hem of his school shirt and in attempt to break the silence, Blunt was asking Isobel questions, which Alex supposed Blunt classed as questions most great-uncles would ask.

Isobel was glaring unblinkingly with intense hatred at Alex (it was slightly unnerving), refusing to look away. Her answers were mostly one-word, those which weren't mainly contained snide insults.

"So, Alex how was school today?" Blunt asked in an obvious attempt to escape his great-niece's poisonous glare.

Alex had totally forgotten about school. It was as if he had left school weeks ago, rather than a few hours. Alex recognised this feeling; it was one that he had grown to associate with MI6.

"Erm, it was fine, nothing special." Alex replied.

"What's your favourite subject?" Blunt asked.

Alex grimaced inwardly, having no relations that he knew of; Alex didn't normally have to answer questions like these.

When he spoke to Blunt, generally the only topic of conversation was missions.

"P.E. I suppose." Alex replied, unsure what he should answer.

Isobel snorted in an unladylike fashion, rolling her eyes, signalling her disapproval of Alex's choice of answer.

"I take it that you don't agree Isobel?" Blunt asked, trying to make conversation.

"P.E. is basically a polite term for popular, sporty people to run around, generally after a sack of air i.e. a ball, whilst everyone else stands around awkwardly listening to the teacher tell them how amazing the sporty people are and how awful they are."

Isobel finished her rant with a hair flick and then glued her eyes back to her mobile, which had just vibrated in her hand.

**A.N Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delay between the first chapter and this one, but my computer went all weird. Massive thanks go out to my brilliant beta Raksha Child 571- you've got to check out her incredible stories! Also, please review!**


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